


celluloid scenes, torn at the seams

by orphan_account



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Emotional Trauma, First Kiss, M/M, Psychopathy and Sociopathy, Repressed Memories, almost a fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 09:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17404457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dexter tries to deal with seeing his very dead brother showing up everywhere, despite being very dead.





	celluloid scenes, torn at the seams

**Author's Note:**

> follows right up till the end season of season one, then canon divergence. 
> 
> title inspired by peaches by Lana Del Rey.
> 
> also very much inspired by Vidria’s wonderful fic

Dexter returns to his nondescript apartment, the closest approximation of home, to find his older brother waiting for him on his couch. His older, _very dead_ , brother smiling up at him. The ‘ _surprise!’_  goes unsaid.

 

Dexter doesn’t even acknowledge him, making a beeline for the fridge and helping himself a chilled orange juice in a glass. The scorching Miami heat, or lack of vitamin C could cause anyone to imagine their murdered brother on their couch, now scowling at the lack of attention.

 

“You’re no fun.” Brian Moser pouts, running a hand through his dark curls that’s gone slightly frizzy.

 

“And you’re dead.” Dexter shrugs, feeling the cool and sugar of the OJ travelling down his oesophagus. 

 

 

 

It’s not even the first time Brian has shown up.  The first time was right after the news blared “Ice Truck Killer Claims Final Victim: Himself” in the middle of work, and Dexter realized that he, he only would ever mourn the true identity of Rudy Cooper — the only person who truly understood him, the only one he ever wanted to set free, the fact that for a fleeting moment in this alien world he wasn’t alone — and had to avoid Angel and Masuka cheering and Doakes’ watchful eyes as he made his way out of the building of self satisfied officers, a strange feeling in his chest choking him inside out.

 

That’s when he saw, clear as day, Brian standing across the street — smiling, alive — as if Dexter didn’t slit his throat throat and set his storage locker on fire to burn all evidence. 

 

“Go!” Dexter said out loud, feeling as if he were the one on fire. The rational logical part of his brain was already hypothesizing, it’s a coping mechanism, grief often manifests itself as illusions of a loved one, the amount of times Dexter has imagined Harry to appear, what he would say, and now with the Ice Truck Killer blaring all over the news, it’d only make sense his subconscious would not want to let go of Brian, just yet.

 

However, Dexter’s mind wasn’t one to play tricks on him and he could _hear_ the familiar hasty patter of Debra’s workboots before she called out “Dex!” from across the building, making her way to him. 

 

“You okay?” She asked, barely masking just how shaken up she looked. She wasn’t authorized back to work yet, still moved in with Dexter, but that wouldn’t stop her from filing in paperwork everyday an as excuse to be back on the force. Harry’s daughter, Dexter’s only living sibling and perhaps the only one mourning their shared loss, just in very different ways. 

 

“Yeah, just...” Dexter trailed off, sneaking a look at the street across, and Brian Moser was gone. Like he was never there.

 

 

This time, Dexter is less unfazed. Debra moved out a few days ago, and while Dexter is glad he finally has clean dishes in the sink and reasonable electricity bill, he had almost grown used to her presence sharing a space in his bachelor pad. Everything he gets used to has a way of disappearing on him. 

 

“Rita dumped me.” Dexter says out loud, theoretically to an empty room, but his very dead sibling insists on being present, faking looking surprised. 

 

“Oh no! Not Romeo!” Not chance of faking the smugness of that remark.

 

Dexter recalls the events of the morning, when Rita confronted him about the shoe in her garden, what had seemed at the time the only logical way of assuring Paul was never going to hurt Rita or the kids again while adhering to Harry’s Code. And maybe it was cause Dexter was so fucking tired of lying to everyone, as easily as it came to him like breathing, and the constant news barrage over the Ice Truck Killer and Debra punching holes in his walls because God knows none of the Morgan family knew how to express their trauma or the fact that his brother, the only person in the world who understood him was now dead, he admitted to it.

 

To drugging Paul and setting him up, that is. 

 

Rita had looked disbelieving, shocked, and dawning upon realisation all at once, thinking Dexter had gotten the drugs by using himself. Her voice somehow steady despite her hands shaking when she asked him if he was an addict.

 

_Yes_.

 

His dark passenger is his addiction, that much is true. 

 

She closed her eyes and told him he needed to go. That, that she couldn’t put the kids through this again, not—not after Paul. She can’t put herself through this again. And if he ever gets sober, she’s sorry but, just go Dexter.

 

Dexter had left, feeling numb like he had been these past few weeks. But also a vague sense of _love_ , if he could anyone deep within his soul, and _pride_ that Rita finally stood up for herself. She was no longer the broken woman he had met. Some part of him did love her, he realized. It was the same sort of feeling he had when Debra passed law enforcement training, pride that she accomplished her dream and and regret that she would perhaps be in the team that inevitably catches him someday. He’s gonna miss the kids the most, but also a twinge of relief that he no longer has to face them when the inevitable happens. They’ll live. He did. 

 

 

“Well, now you won’t have to pretend to be world’s best fake dad.” Brian smiles up at Dexter, standing opposite the kitchen counter now. Dexter didn’t hear him move, he’s lithe like a cat, and he’s staring at Dexter with the same doe eyed wonder, hands on the counter leaning forward. 

 

“You’re dead.”

 

“You know I’m not.” A quirked brow, daring to challenge him.

 

A rational part of Dexter’s mind recalled post-bereavement hallucinatory experiences (PBHEs), where people see or hear a dead loved one. Grief induced hallucinations. Brian Moser should be so lucky. God knows how many times Dexter’s heard Harry’s voice in his head.

 

“Why did you burn my lab then?” Brian asks suddenly.

 

Dexter flinches, trying not to remember holding the knife, trembling hands, starting the fire — “I didn’t have time to wipe down fingerprints, it’s much easier to fake a suicide of the Ice Truck Killer.” Dexter answers mechanically, blocking out the memories of that night as his body went on autopilot — follow the code. 

 

Brian tuts, moving closer against the kitchen counter, feeling all the more real by the second. “That’s not the MO. You know that, Dexter. Fire? How _biblical_ ,” He rolled his eyes.

 

“You always were good at blocking things out, Dex.” 

 

“I’m not. Debra,” Dexter recalled his sister, trying her best to pretend to be unshaken, being taken to the morgue, to identify the charred remains of her fiancé slash killer, “She ID’d you.” 

 

Brian eyes him, they’re so close almost nose to nose. “Yes, darling traumatised Deb didn’t even look at the burnt slab that was Rudy Cooper. Just took the coroner’s word that the dental records matched. Makes you wonder, putting so much faith in the justice system when records are deceptively easy to fake.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

 

Dexter’s brain raced at the implications, he hadn’t been able to follow the code, he had left the unconscious body of Brian Moser and even the thought of spilling his blood in his metal lab brought back memories of being stuck in the metal containment ship, their mother’s blood, _Biney_... He had started the fire and carried Debra out of there, pledging his allegiance. He hadn’t even considered that Brian wasn’t going to stay knocked out for long, that someone as meticulous as the Ice Truck Killer would have stolen someone’s identity whose records he would’ve swapped, that — no, it’s too convenient, it’s the perfect cover. Dexter should’ve known. Dexter _did_ know.

 

Rudy Cooper is dead.

 

Brian Moser is standing in front of him.

 

“You were gone.” He allows himself to acknowledge the truth. Brian almost smiles at that. Dexter feels the sharp pangs in his chest, but his left arm was steady. Not a heart attack then. 

 

“I will never leave you.” Brian promises, his eyes dark, and in a quick movement closes the gap between them. Dexter stills, not expecting this kiss — Harry’s Code never covered this — not expecting the soft hands on his neck as he relaxed into it, but absolutely expected the telltale sting of a tranquilliser syringe entering his bloodstream. Pretty surgeon hands were his last coherent thought as the world faded to black. 

 

 

 


End file.
